Blackfeather Woods don't you know

Having not been given an immediate answer, the child had been tempted to voice his question once more. Before he could even open his mouth, though, the answer had come out. Cicero. He’d have to remember that. Then came the concoction of noises that made up his own name, causing the boy’s ears to fall back slightly. He enjoyed other wolves knowing his name, but being called by his entire first name had always seemed to be a major pet peeve. “Tamalupâ…” he muttered, opinion directed solely at the usage of his full name, rather than the male who’d spoken it. For the most part, he expected others to just know what he preferred to be called, but was slowly coming to realize that something like that couldn’t always be presumed. “Xan,” he corrected after a second or two. “I prefer Xan.” The young Inuit gave him a good stare, wanting to make sure his words had been heard, before turning his attention to the question.
 
“I like it a lot so far,” Xan answered, recalling those he’d met around the woods. They seemed nice, to him, aside from a few. The woods itself made him happy, too. He liked the shadows and the grove, even the swamp—though his favourite thing had to be the wisps (and maybe bothering Nemesis). “I miss my sister sometimes, but I like it better here.” The boy had slowly discovered that he didn’t miss some of his family nearly as much as others. Nanook, he missed, Sesi he'd never really connected with, and then Desna... well, he didn't really miss her at all. The grand display his little sister had put on still seemed fresh in his mind, and he continued to believe that the heftier child had deserved exactly what she'd gotten. Just like she deserved to miss out on how cool the woods were.